Rooftop Work
by MerryAnchor16
Summary: "Emotions weren't approved of. But it didn't mean Roronoa Zoro didn't have them." AU: Zoro's killed so many people he no longer cares to count. But when he's three bounties away from buying his freedom, one person has to come and mess it all up. Assassin!Zoro x Sanji (Nakamaship)
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Just a drabble that might expand into a full fic but I'm not entirely sure yet, I'll let you guys be the judge of that. It's most likely going to be a Sanji/Zoro Nakamaship story but if you want ZoSan I can do that, it will work either way :)**

**Enjoy and let me know what you think! :D**

**Title: Rooftop Work**

**Summary: 'Emotions weren't approved of. But it didn't mean Roronoa Zoro didn't have them.'**

**Warnings: Gun use/violence**

**Rating: T for gun use**

* * *

Raftel was bathed in silver light from the moon. It washed the streets with a gentle, almost magical, glow and sent shadows yawning out at great length so it looked as if they were chasing each other. The sound of music drifted up from the suburbs, but it was distant up here in the upper class parts of the city. The man could still hear it though, a gentle tune riding on the wind. He hummed along to it, far fetched memories of a past long forgotten playing at the corners of his mind. He had been happier then, a smile etched into his face and it had been genuine and meaningful. Now he was just a shell with a mask on.

Pulling a black beanie over unruly cropped hair, he set the briefcase at his feet. With hands bandaged with micro-porous tape, he flicked up the clasps and hunkered down on the rooftop. From this point, the building was directly in front of him. He could see the people through the slightly tinted window. The 'target' was smiling, laughing. At their feet, their children were running around. The man on the roof sighed deeply. Children always made it harder.

He dragged his gaze away and set his eyes on the box. He flipped the lid open, a sinking feeling in his gut as he saw the disassembled sniper rifle sitting snugly on plush cushions. He slotted it back together numbly, forlorn at the way he knew how to use the weapon almost as good as his swords. He pined for Wado who sat safely under lock and key back home. But in this line of business, swords weren't a necessity.

He slotted a bullet into the gun, body moving out of muscle memory rather than thought. He didn't want to kill anymore. How many children had he scarred for life, when their parent dropped down dead in front of them? How many had he singlehandedly put six feet under in the cold, hard ground? He hefted the gun up and took aim, pushing such silly thoughts and notions aside; he was too close to his goal now to let such farfetched hopes delude him. Just three more bounties and he could buy the freedom he so long yearned for. He pressed a finger to the trigger. His face was deadpan and cold.

In this line of business, emotions weren't approved of. He pulled the trigger.

The weapon bucked slightly. He slammed the briefcase shut and took off. He knew he hadn't missed, and the screams that followed after him confirmed his belief. He dropped down into an alleyway and crouched into the shadows, back pressed against the cold wall. The adrenaline rush quickly passed and he slid down until he was slumped, face buried in his tanned and bandaged hands.

Emotions weren't approved of. But it didn't mean Roronoa Zoro didn't have them.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I know, this is a short chapter but this is all so that I can set the scene. It'll all begin to kick off in the next chapter though :) But still, I hope you enjoy!**

**Oh, and this now a NAKAMASHIP fic by the way. Sorry if this disappointed anyone x**

* * *

Zoro pushed the oak door open and entered, shutting it after him. He hovered by the doorway, the briefcase in a taped up hand. The room was lavish in its furnishings; pinewood bookcases stacked with old tomes and novels lined the walls, dark wooden boards made the floor and they were polished to the best shine. The walls were a deep emerald green, golden gothic curls dancing and entwining with each other in a lazy pattern and the wall at the back opened out to a tinted window which gave a spectacular view of Raftel's skyline.

In the center of the room, on a thick, rich green rug stood a dark wooden desk. Directly above it, hanging from a gold-plated chain, was an ornate chandelier made from curved golden bars and it cast a soft glow that ebbed out into the dark corners of the room. Behind the desk on a plush leather chair sat a man.

Black hair was drawn back from a pale face and tumbled neatly down to his neckline before flicking out. Dark, almost charcoal black eyes looked at Zoro intensely and the assassin felt the familiar sensation of being studied settle on him. He pushed it aside; his boss didn't like to see weakness and those who showed it met an ill fate.

A gloved hand ran across a scarred set of cheeks and a marred nose in an almost straight line. The flint eyes locked with jade green.

"I trust he's dead?"

The words sounded like an explosion after the silence and Zoro refrained from flinching. He said nothing, just nodded deliberately in response and held the handle of the briefcase tighter. How could he forget? He'd fired the bullet after all. And the screams, oh God the screams. No amount of cold showers could ever wash away how dirty he felt for making another child cry like that.

The man at the desk had struck up a cigar and held it between to sets of white teeth in a self-satisfied smirk; almost as if he was congratulating himself. A wisp of smoke twirled sluggishly towards the ceiling. Zoro watched it be set free with dead eyes.

"Payment will be wired to you shortly. Good job, Roronoa- expect to hear from me soon."

Zoro willed his mouth to speak though it felt it took too much effort to do so, "Yes, Mister Zero."

Mr Zero smirked again before he turned the chair around, his back facing the assassin, and Zoro knew that the short-lived discussion was over. He turned on his heel and left the room, briefly pausing at the threshold to watch over his shoulder as another wisp of smoke fluttered and flew away.

* * *

Sunlight reached the suburbs at a leisurely pace, throwing a blanket of light and warmth across the street and houses which was welcomed after the previous night's chill. A boy cycled past on a bike, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder as he tossed newspapers onto front steps with ease. A few birds chirped in short bursts of song and one of the neighbours dogs yapped snappily at a cat prowling on the fence. The smell of summer hung in the air as the bees hummed lazily around shrubs and flower patches.

Sanji Bleu shifted on the mattress, the springs groaning and squeaking under the weight of his body, so that he was sprawled on his back. A shaft of sunlight cut through the curtains and into the bedroom, creating a butter yellow bar to run in a line over his bare stomach and the sharp tips of hipbones that escaped from the confines of his boxers. Long legs were parted with one overhanging the bed and his pale arms were tossed carelessly near his sides. Blonde hair fanned out across the pillow and a rogue strand of it snaked down his nose and to his mouth so that every time he breathed out it leapt skyward before falling again.

As the minutes passed, the shaft of sunlight on his middle became a beam that became increasingly warmer. Sanji began to fidget, nose scrunching as he rolled onto his side. Slowly one bright blue eye, glazed with sleep, slipped open and silently surveyed the room. He stretched out a rueful arm and twisted the alarm clock to face him. He stared at the face of it a moment before sighing heavily and used his arms as support as he pushed himself up.

He staggered to the bathroom, last night's drinking still leeching on his balance and tripping him up at random moments. He ran the cold tap, splashing icy water up his face and rubbing it around his eyes then turned it off. He checked his reflection in the mirror, pawing at his skin with sloppy, fatigued hands. He ran a thumb over the scruff on his chin. He'd tidied it up yesterday so he left it alone and relieved his bladder at the toilet then trudged back into the bedroom on a new quest for clothes.

By the time he'd actually got downstairs, it was already nine in the morning. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and slunk into the lounge to settle into the plush sofa. He crossed his legs and balanced the bowl in the little gap he had made as he hunched over and snagged the remote. He flicked the tv on and traded the controller for a spoon and began to eat.

"-leaving his wife and two children devastated. His wife is refusing to answer any questions," The woman on the screen spoke slowly and precisely, but Sanji was paying more attention to her pretty face than to the story she was covering, "Police on site have not gathered much evidence, but it has already been declared that this was murder. More information will be available as the story unfolds... In other news, the search for missing person Roronoa Zoro has been called off-"

Sanji choked on the cereal in his mouth, suddenly listening intensely to the woman. No. This couldn't be right, surely?

"Six years ago, teenage student Roronoa Zoro disappeared seemingly without a trace. He was last seen outside world-renouned restaurant 'The Baratie' on the twenty second of December six years previous. Police kept the case open for as long as they could but it seems all hope of ever finding Roronoa Zoro or, in fact, ever recovering his body are lost. Police and government have now declared him deceased."

The woman droned on but Sanji could only stare helplessly at the file photo on the top corner of the screen. It was an old picture but there was no denying that the green haired boy was Zoro; Sanji had the exact photo in one of Zeff's albums. But the police couldn't have given up the search! They hadn't found him yet!

"It is a shame and it is the hardest part of any policeman's job to call an end to a case. What is even worse is that no body was recovered and now the family has to continue on never truly knowing what happened to Zoro on the night of his disappearance. Our deepest apologies go out to them in this hard time, but they know that we did all we could to find him." A gruff voice said and Sanji glared at the screen angrily.

"Smoker," He growled, hate seething out of the name, "You shitty bastard!" He slammed the bowl down on the table , turned off the tv and lunged for the front door. 'He promised he wouldn't give up' he snarled inwardly, viciously swing the door open and ramming his feet into his shoes, locking his house shut behind him. He stormed down the driveway to his car and when he was behind the wheel he shouted, "I'm gonna kick that shitty bastard's ass!"


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Wow. So, possibly one of the most depressive endings to a chapter I have ever written so far... but at least there's a little insight into Zoro's childhood and yay for Trafalgar! :)**

**Thankyou for all the lovely reviews so far, I'm so glad you're all enjoying it so far :D Next chapter will be up next week!**

**And so the plot thickens...**

* * *

Tanned fingers raked through choppy black and blue tinted hair before locating the itch. Trafalgar Law sighed in relief as he scritched his nails over the skin. He yawned widely and pulled his hand away to stretch out his arms and arch his back, the stiff joints popping and cracking. He lifted up the hem of his scrub shirt to unhook the pager from his hip. He turned it off with the click of a button and stuffed it into his locker amid a pile of spare scrubs and newspapers. He allowed a small smile of self-satisfaction to himself. Well, it was more a twitch of the lips really. He clicked the depressingly dull grey locker door shut and slid the padlock through before collapsing onto one of the soft chairs at the coffee table.

Trafalgar liked to think himself a quiet man. He stayed out of people's business and never cared enough to get involved with everything they did or said. That's what made him a great doctor. Of course there were the odd few exceptions; the select few acquaintances he was willing to commute and share up to some level of care about. But those were few.

Tattooed fingers delved into the rucksack slumped by the chair to pull out his phone. He checked the messages. There were two. One was a snide comment from a brief argument with a hotheaded redhead who had too many priority issues to even count, and the other from a well-known number. It was anonymous- no name to accompany the little black numbers- but Trafalgar knew very well who it was. He clicked it open and read:

'Home now. No injuries.'

The young surgeon would never admit it to anyone- he would rather jump in front of a bus than destroy his reputation- but he felt relief at the words 'No injuries', and not just because he was tired to death. He nodded to himself and slipped the device back into his bag. He leaned into the soft cushioned chair, tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

It had been a hard day at work on the night shift. They had been short two doctors and he'd had to cope with a wailing baby who'd thrown up on him twice, but he'd singlehandedly saved three lives on the operating table and that was a rewarding feeling that he couldn't even begin to describe. He winced as he wiggled his toes inside his trainers, trying to work out the cramp. He'd been on his feet all day and now he needed a little 'me' time.

'But first, I'd better get back home and check on that idiot,' He thought, exhaling swiftly and he opened his cold, gunmetal grey eyes. The text message had said clearly 'No injuries' but Trafalgar didn't trust it. That person had tried to hide things from him before; knife wounds, cuts, broken bones and even a gunshot wound. How the hell do you even hide one of those?! He still couldn't believe that they had managed to keep it hidden for two days before he caught them passed out with fever and a deep infection.

He heaved himself up onto his legs again, snatching up his bag and shouldering it and left the staff room. The corridors were pristine and the faint smell of antiseptics hung in the air, giving that stereotypical 'hospital' smell. He walked past wards and down the flight of stairs into Reception, dodging neatly around other doctors, nurses and patients like he was dancing. He walked through the double doors and into the light blue room which was filled with people. He weaved his way to the exit and was finally able to breathe once he was outside.

The sun was shining quite brightly despite it barely even being nine in the morning and the car park was packed with vehicles. He blinked a few times, letting his tired eyes and sleep deprived brain adjust to the outside world, before setting off for his car. His scrubs rustled in the light breeze and he pulled his bag around, fishing for his keys. He clicked the doors unlocked and jumped in without hesitation. He started up the ignition and smiled as the engine to his pure white Aston Martin Vanquish, relishing in the way the engine's purrs vibrated through his slender body. Oh God, he loved this car. It was sleek, it was beautiful, it was powerful and all he needed to do was wash it every week and top the tank up. That was why cars were much better than people. Car didn't ask or want; they didn't need feeding or medical attention. They were just made to be there and to be beautiful. His lips twitched again in that almost-not-there smile as he pulled out of his space, the leather steering wheel cool against his fingertips, and set off out of Drum Island Hospital and into the busy rush hour traffic of Raftel.

* * *

It was about quarter past ten when Trafalgar finally pulled up on the drive. He got out and stormed up to the house haughtily, bag lopsided on one shoulder and the other hand clasping a set of keys in a knuckle whitening grip. He reached the front door and shoved in the key perhaps a little too violently but he didn't care right now, "Stupid fucking traffic, stupid fucking drivers, stupid roads..." He growled under his breath. He turned the key and it halted in the lock, making a funny crunching sound. He frowned and looked down to see he'd put the wrong key in.

He held the rage in considerably well, fighting back the urge to just rip the whole door off its hinges to get in. He put his head against the painted wood that had heated up in the sun and closed his eyes, "Calm... Calm..." He muttered to himself and counted back from ten mentally. He knew getting stressed wasn't going to get him anywhere, but he was tired and hot and bothered from being in the car that long when he only lived a half hour away from the hospital. When he felt he was calm enough, he exchanged the key for the right one and opened the door. When he got in, he was surprised at the state of his living room.

It was clean.

The sofa was in its rightful place, as were all the books on the shelves. There wasn't any blood on the linoleum floorboards and the coffee table wasn't stacked sky high with bottles and cans. All that sat on the little table was The Briefcase.

Trafalgar had titled the black carry case that because he'd never seen what was inside it and, to be honest, he didn't really want to. The man who owned it never talked about it and the surgeon never cared much to ask. He'd asked once, but the other man had made very clear he didn't want to discuss it- Trafalgar still remembered the feeling of and icy blade against his throat in warning.

He walked in to the suspiciously tidy room and peered over the sofa. Sleeping soundly on it was his housemate. The man was sprawled out on the cushions in a mix of black clothing, tanned skin and green hair. His earrings were flipped up the side of his face, glittering on a scuffed cheek and one white taped hand was resting on a black Kevlar bulletproof vest whilst the other was flopped by his head, the fingers twitching every so often. Trafalgar took the oppertunity to check for any serious looking injuries, but they were all minor cuts and scrapes that he could clean up once the man was awake.

With that sort-of-there smile gracing his lips, the surgeon unceremoniously dropped his heavy rucksack onto the man's middle. The green haired male woke with a start, wheezing as all the air was forced from his lungs. Instinctively, large hands lunged for the black briefcase sitting innocently on the table next to him before jade eyes met familiar gunmetal ones. The man instantly relaxed, but a scowl creased up his young features, "Oh. It's you." The voice was deep, rough and held a worried note to it but it was a subtle one, "Why are you here?"

Trafalgar rolled his eyes, "Oh, I dunno, maybe because I live here and I'm being a good housemate by checking you're still alive," He strolled over to a bookcase and reached up, pulling a tin from the top shelf.

"You're a bastard, you know that?"

Trafalgar held the box in one hand and flipped the other man off, "I do try, Zoro," He responded dryly and moved over to the sofa, swatting at Zoro's legs until he had enough room to sit. He set the tin on the table and Zoro narrowed his eyes at it.

"Why have you got that out? I'm not hurt," He said, glaring at the First Aid box like it ate puppies in its spare time. He edged slightly away. Trafalgar rolled his eyes again.

"Look, I'm not gonna put up with your stubborn attitude today. I'm tired, I'm pissed off and I can't even go to sleep because I've got to somehow fix my obliterated sleep cycle. I've got a week off and I don't want to be spending it looking after you because you caught an infection. Okay?" Law said bluntly, looking the other man straight in the eyes. Zoro didn't say anything, but the sigh he gave let the doctor know he'd won this time.

Zoro flicked on the plasma screen tv that hung on the wall directly in front of the sofa and browsed through the channels as Trafalger donned a pair of latex gloves and set about cleaning up scrapes and cuts, covering the one on his cheek with a small strip of gauze. It wasn't awkward but it wasn't a pleasant atmosphere that settled on the two men. It was just routine built off a year of living together.

Trafalgar was still young and, though he was fully qualified, was a tad inexperienced in some areas. But now he had Zoro to practice his skills on. He never asked the green haired man where he gained his injuries, not when he staggered through the door with knife marks or broken bones, not even when he'd got a bullet lodged in his shoulder. Law just worked like it was a job that needed to be done with no questions asked. Zoro could feel them hanging unanswered in the air sometimes, but that feeling usually faded within a few days and he'd made it very clear on the first night they had met that he wasn't to ever question anything. He remembered clearly how he'd pinned the slim body against the wall, Wado pressed threateningly against the doctor's neck and told him, no, ordered him to never ask him anything about his life ever again unless told otherwise.

"They pronounced you dead early this morning," Trafalgar announced suddenly, pressing another wad of gauze to a cut on Zoro's forehead.

"Huh?" He grunted in response as he was pulled out of his thoughts. Law pointed a long tattooed finger at the screen where the news was playing to itself.

"They pronounced you dead this morning- the Police," He repeated, "I forgot to tell you."

Zoro could practically hear the question going through Law's mind, but the doctor said nothing as he pulled off the gloves and packed away the mess he'd made. He grabbed the remote and knocked the volume up a few notches as he picked up the used antiseptic wipes and moved into the kitchen that was located on the opposite side of the hall. Zoro put his full attention on the screen blaring at him,

"Six years ago teenage student Roronoa Zoro disappeared on the twenty second of December. He was last seen outside of the restaurant The Baratie with another boy of similar age. It was later confirmed that the other boy seen with him was Sanji Bleu, now sous-chef of his adoptive father's restaurant. Mr Bleu claimed he knew nothing of Roronoa's disappearance and was later pardoned of all charges and accusations. The police had arrested four men and one woman in connection with the case but were all later released on bail and on the condition that the police had no evidence to convict them."

Zoro watched as a thumbnail photograph materialized in the top corner. It was a familiar photo, he remembered it being taken. Zeff was stood just behind the two boys. One was blonde with blue eyes and a swirled eyebrow and he had a small pink tongue poking out at the boy next to him. Zoro smiled but there was only emptiness behind it, it didn't reach his eyes. Next to the younger version of Sanji, stood a younger version of himself. He looked more childish, more fuller in the face, but there was no denying with that tanned skin and shock of green hair that that was him.

A funny feeling ebbed in his stomach and tightened in his chest as he saw his photographic self pulling an equally childish face at Sanji. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, that was a long time ago. He didn't live for the past anymore. In a way, he was glad the police had finally closed the case. Maybe, when he'd paid off his debt, he could start over. A new life, a new name, a new man. But when he looked back at the little photo of the three of them he found he didn't want to forget that part of his life. Some things just couldn't be started over.

He barely felt the sofa cushions dip as Trafalgar sat at the opposite end of the sofa. He looked at the screen then back at Zoro. The green haired man was curled into himself, knees as close to his chest as the flint black Kevlar vest would allow and his face looked conflicted, pained almost. There was happiness and saddness. Two polar opposites but there they were- it was the most emotion he'd ever seen the man give, usually it was just that hollow, haunted look that seeped out from the back of his eyes and spread across his face like a mask, like he was too afraid to show anything else.

Law scritched his dark goatee, a nervous habit of his and, before he could stop it, he blurted, "Are you okay, Zoro?"

He'd expected anger, like that night he first met the man. He expected Zoro to leap at him, grabbing whatever it was he kept in that case and killing him. He felt his heart jump a little in his chest but didn't let his face betray him as his roomate looked over at him.

The anger never came.

Instead, Zoro fixed him with a look so raw and so exposed Trafalgar was tempted to pinch himself and check if he was dreaming. The jade eyes were a well of pain. The doctor had never seen anyone look so sad, so broken in all of his life and he'd seen some pretty desperate people whilst at work. Trafalgar Law wasn't really much of a people's person; he didn't like the way they relied on others for help or comfort. But this-

No person should ever look like this.

Zoro held his gaze a little longer before dragging it back to where the newsreader rambled on about the closed case.

"No," Came the reply, soft and hoarse, "No I'm not okay, Trafalgar."

There were no words after that and an atmosphere so thick you could cut it with a knife settled on the pair of them. Even long after the report had ended and the next headline came up, nothing was said. Trafalgar stared down at the black symbols and patterns that marred his skin for a while, unsure of what to do with himself. He couldn't comfort the man, he wasn't a comforter- he didn't do words of wisdom or embraces. He scratched his goatee again before leaving the green haired man alone and heading upstairs to get changed. But it seemed that wherever he went in the house Zoro's sadness followed him, threatening to swallow him whole.


	4. Chapter 4

"No, don't. Please!"

He felt the rope biting at the flesh of his wrists as he pulled and the wood of the chair freezing on his bare back. The single light above him made a feeble yellow spotlight that left all else in the room in darkness. He couldn't see them but he could hear them. At his feet his shirt was slumped, tattered and smeared with crimson. His chest and ribs hurt but the loop of rope around his neck stopped him from getting a look.

"Look kid, either way you're gonna join us. We don't have to do this the hard way, you know."

The voice crept put from the unending darkness that prowled around him, the pathetic light just barely keeping it at bay. He stopped pulling and grit his teeth, "Where am I?"

There was a sick sounding chuckle from behind and it sent a jolt up his spine. Something curled and tightened on his collarbone, "That doesn't matter. Now, what's your answer? Please don't make me have to hurt you again, Zoro."

Zoro was scared and being scared made him angry. Pretty goddamn angry. He growled,

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone!"

"Well this is a shame,"

A dull scrape of metal echoed through the darkness and a tightening feeling twisted in Zoro's gut. He knew what was coming but he couldn't prepare himself for it, the pain was awful every time. He was terrified. He didn't know what they wanted, he didn't know where the hell he was. He wanted to go home. He wanted the Baratie, he wanted Zeff, heck- he wanted that shitty blonde curly brow. He held the tears in from his burning eyes but when the crowbar slammed into his ribs he let them go.

He screamed in pain, the binds around his arms and neck making it impossible to curl in on himself. The crack of snapping bone sounded like a gunshot. Tears ran down his face and a strong hand grabbed his chin and Zoro came face to face with his attacker. Blonde hair, tanned skin and shades that hid his eyes. He rubbed the tears from Zoro's face almost tenderly, "Shush shush now, I know... It hurt, didn't it?" The man pouted, "But you weren't really behaving for me, were you?"

Zoro shook his head shuddering with sobs. His side was on fire and everytime he breathed it felt like he was dying. What was left of his resolve was shattered and splintered like his ribs, "Please..." He whispered, "...What do you want from me?"

The blonde smiled, almost pitifully, "Oh, Zoro... You know what I want. I told you: work for me. Just promise me and this can stop. It won't hurt anymore. You're only doing this to yourself."

Zoro wanted more than anything for the pain to stop. He gasped and coughed, something hot and wet dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Above, the light flickered threateningly as if it were about to give out. He clenched and unclenched his bruised fingers. He just wanted to go home, was that too much to ask? The blonde man wiped his mouth softly and Zoro almost flinched at the soft tissue dabbing at his skin.

"Zoro this can all stop if you just say yes. I don't want to hurt you any more but you are giving me very little choice for much else. All I'm asking for is six years working for me then you can leave. I'm a very fair man, Zoro. I don't ask for much. And I don't lie. I never lie," The man smirked and licked his lips with a pink tongue, "Now... What is your answer?"

Zoro took in a juddery breath as he thought it through. It was only six years. He could still go home. He could pretend his injuries were from falling down some steps or a fight that went a little too far in the dojo. Zeff and Sanji never needed to know what had happened here. He closed his eyes, "Yes..." He hissed in a pained and broken voice. The blonde man grinned and stroked the boy's sweat matted green hair,

"Good boy. I knew you'd see sense."

He turned and reached out into the dark and pulled a hideous pink fabric from where it hung on a chair. He shrugged the coat over his shoulders and smoothed out the ruffled feathers. He groaned, "Ohhh, you got blood on me," He pawed at a crimson smear on his pristine white shirt, "That's never going to come out..." He huffed and looked at the teenager, "I'll send someone in to get you in a minute."

He walked off into the darkness and a door creaked as it was swung open, "Welcome to the team, Zoro."

The door slammed shut and Zoro flinched. He felt sick. His body was a battlefield of pain and he felt dirty. He'd sold himself out. A sudden cough rattled his body and another stream of warm wet slithered out of his mouth. The tears fell freely from his eyes again as he trembled.

'I want to go home'

* * *

Zoro woke up with a start. He sat up straight, hands fisting in the sheets and a ghost of an ache across his ribs. He was shaking uncontrollably as he glanced about the room. Once he'd assured himself he wasn't where he had thought he was he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He buried his face in his hands and pulled away when he felt the dampness of tears slicking his palms.

"Goddamn it," He muttered and rubbed at them until the skin was red raw and puffy. He lay back down on the mattress and turned on his side, knees brought up and arms wrapped protectively around his chest. The sunlight outside was blocked by the curtains and the clock on the wall told him it was one in the afternoon. He then stared blankly at the bedside cabinet for a moment as he calmed himself, the shudders becoming less and less with every second. When he felt his breathing pattern even out and his pulse was no longer throbbing in his ears, he reached out an arm and snagged the photo frame from the bedside cabinet and looked at the picture.

The photo had been a gift from someone in his first year working under his boss, Donquixote. If the guy ever found out he had it... Well, he didn't want to think about that. He looked at the photo in his hand. It was the two of them; him and Sanji (Zeff had taken the photo). They were sitting on the floor, Sanji smiling widely as he held the little black kitten in his arms. It was their first pet and Sanji had aptly named it Sooty.

Zoro hated cats. A fact made obvious as his younger self was sat as far away from it as he could get, a disgusted look on his face. Zoro ran his thumb on the edge of the frame, scowling. He never did like Sooty. That animal was pure evil disguised as a cat. It used to jump him in the hall, attack him on the stairs and spit at him as he walked past. Zoro hated the thing but Sanji loved it and it was only because he loved it so much that Zoro refrained from kicking it under a bus or mincing it up with his swords.

He ran his tanned fingers over the image of Sanji and brought the photo to his scarred chest, holding it tightly as new tears began running down onto the pillow. Outside his window, the birds sang their cheery little tunes.

* * *

**AN: Yay, so another chapter! I wanted to give you a little insight to Zoro's past first before continuing with the storyline. I hope you liked it and thankyou for all the lovely reviews!**


End file.
